


dare to dance the tides

by fireflyslove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Polyamory, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Soft Boys, soft Nat, they wear sweatpants and eat pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflyslove/pseuds/fireflyslove
Summary: Steve and Bucky and Nat are soft but Nat can kick both of their asses and they love it.(Or, I suddenly write Steve/Bucky/Nat now)(It's technically a direct sequel to The Lucky One, but it can be read independently)





	1. Bucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldwinterrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwinterrose/gifts).



> APPARENTLY THIS IS WHERE I LIVE NOW??
> 
> WHATEVER.
> 
> Also, y'all can blame [coldwinterrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwinterrose) for this one. She's a menace. 
> 
> Title from Garth Brooks' The River

Bucky was right, of course, Steve was insufferable by day five.

After some negotiation, and Sam’s insistence that he have a “private life” (whatever that meant), it turned out that Captain America was now two people. Sam got the first two weeks of the month and alternate Wednesdays, and Bucky had the second two weeks of the month and alternate Thursdays. The shield had its own custody schedule and everything. 

Steve steadfastly refused to pick the thing up, but Bucky had caught him admiring it on more than one occasion. It was the same shield he had gone into the ice with so long ago, and somehow the paint still bore the potshots that Peggy had taken at him in Howard Stark’s lab. Bucky wasn’t quite sure what the nature of the Steve who had given Sam the shield’s relationship with Peggy and himself had been like, but from what his Steve had said that that Steve had told him, it wasn’t  _ quite _ as straitlaced as the history books had suggested. And, to be honest, Bucky could see why. Peggy Carter, yeah, he could’ve gotten on board with that. 

As it was, he had a cranky supersoldier-turned-artist in his bed, and nothing much to do with him. So he called Natasha. 

“What do you need, Barnes?” she asked, the sound of a helicopter’s rotors in the background.

“I need you to walk Steve,” Bucky said plaintively. 

An exasperated sound came through the phone. “Do it yourself. Or ask Sam. I’m busy.” 

“I’ve tried. And Sam’s busy too,” Bucky said, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He should make some popcorn.

“I have to go now,” Natasha said, and the line went dead. 

Steve came out of the room that they had designated “studio”, charcoal dust in his hair, and scowled at Bucky. “Did you just ask someone to come walk me?” he asked.

“You need to get out,” Bucky said. “Get a hobby.”

“I have a hobby,” Steve said. 

“You need to go outside more. It’s a beautiful day out there,” Bucky suggested, gesturing to the window.

“Why don’t you come with me?” 

“Oh, well, I’m busy,” Bucky said, gesturing to the TV. He loved the guy, but he also needed some alone time once in a while. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, when you get someone to walk me, just let me know.”

Bucky ignored the pointed thumping and scraping noises that came from the studio. He was too damn old to deal with Steve’s tantrum, even if he had caused it. 

Three hours later, Bucky had nearly forgotten the spat when the doorbell rang. He paused his show, and went to answer it. To his surprise, a soot-and-blood-stained Natasha Romanoff stood on their doormat, looking frustrated. 

“Hello,” he said.

She brushed by him, and went to the kitchen. “You got anything decent to drink around here?” 

“Well,” Bucky started to say, but Nat had already poured herself a rather alarming amount of whiskey from a red bottle. 

She tossed it back in one gulp and then wrinkled up her face. “Shit, what  _ is _ that?” 

“It’s Steve’s,” Bucky said, amusement slipping into his voice. “I think Thor had something to do with it.”

“That explains why it’s so strong,” Nat said, and poured herself another glass. “And it also explains those times I found him drunk off his ass after the Snap.”

“What?” Bucky asked, feeling cold slip up his spine.

“He was a damn mess for the first year or so, we all were, really,” she said, too casually. “He hid it from almost everyone but, you know how he is...” She trailed off with a shrug. 

“He really trusts you, doesn’t he?” Bucky asked. It should sting, but… it doesn’t. It’s good that Steve has other people he can trust. 

Natasha snorted. “I should hope so after all this time. He only snapped out of it after we went to see Thor, and well, Thor was in even worse shape. I thought we had talked Val into helping him, but apparently not. But that’s neither here nor there.” She finished the glass and rinsed it out in the sink, putting it to dry. “You still need me to walk him?” 

“I think he needs to go punch something,” Bucky said. “It’s unlike him to go this long without picking a fight, and to be honest, I’d rather not be the thing he fights.”

“Oh, so you’re just throwing  _ me _ under the bus?” Nat said, raising one elegant eyebrow. 

“Absolutely,” Bucky said. “I’m glad you understand!”

Nat rolled her eyes, but spread her hands in a “let’s get this over with” gesture. 

“He’s in the studio,” Bucky said.

“You’d better come with me.” 

Bucky wasn’t sure that was true, but given that she had so magnanimously shown up to entertain Steve, he was willing to give it a try. He was not, however, expecting to come face-to-face with a six-foot tall canvas with the Red Skull’s face on it. He skittered back out of the doorway, and his back slammed against the hallway wall.

Nat and Steve were out seconds behind him, and Steve’s hands were on his shoulders before Bucky could take a shuddering breath.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve said. “If I’d known you were there, I would’ve covered it.”

“Why are you drawing that  _ thing _ ?” Nat spat.

“It wasn’t just the Soul Stone guardian,” Steve said. 

“Wait, what?” Bucky asked. Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about a guardian.

Steve sighed. “Do you want a drink? I think I need a drink.”

“Uh,” Nat said. “You’re all out. I drank the last of it.”

“Fantastic,” Steve muttered.

Bucky had regained control of his nerves and peeled himself off the wall. “The Soul Stone guardian?” he prompted.

Steve turned to Nat first, “The Red Skull was also known as Johann Schmidt.”

“The name sounds familiar…” Nat said. “But I can’t quite place it.”

“He was the founder of Hydra. The original one, in the 40s,” Steve said. “And he was also the first person that Erskine tried the serum on. It… didn’t go well for him.”

“How the hell did he end up on Vormir eighty years later?” Nat asked.

“From what he told me, it was a side effect of him trying to hold the Tesseract and then… melting,” Steve said.

“I must’ve missed him melting,” Bucky muttered.

“It was on the Valkyrie. The plane, not the woman,” Steve said. 

“And you decided to draw him in vivid color and at six times life size because?” Nat asked. 

“It’s therapy, Nat,” Steve said. “You know art can be therapeutic.”

“Uh huh,” Nat said. She didn’t sound like she believed him, and neither did Bucky. 

“Well,” Steve said. “I was planning to set it on fire…”

That broke the tension, and all three of them relaxed. 

“Are you here to walk me, Nat?” Steve asked. “You look like you could use a shower.”

“I could,” Nat agreed. “But after I kick your ass.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Steve said. 

“It was a threat.”

“Give me five minutes to change my clothes.”

“You have three.”

Six minutes later, Bucky was leaning against the support of the patio cover watching Nat and Steve spar. It was easy to tell where Steve had learned some of his more acrobatic moves, especially that kick he seemed so fond of. 

Bucky’s memory of the Red Room was hazy at best, but if he was right, there was a good chance Nat had, at some point in her life, gotten at least a low-level dose of Zola’s bastardized serum. It wasn’t something he was planning to bring up, but it did explain why she could hold her own against Steve, even if Steve wasn’t quite going as hard as he could. And… Nat actually seemed to be winning.

There was a puff of dust, and then Steve was face down in the dirt, Nat with a knee in the small of his back.

“I yield,” Steve said, coughing out dirt. Nat sprang up and offered him a hand. 

Bucky clapped, only half-sarcastically. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d give up a fight, Rogers,” he said. 

“She can kick my ass any day,” Steve said, smiling down at Nat. 

“Don’t make threats you can’t follow through on,” Nat said.

Steve stuck his tongue out at her, and Bucky felt a twinge of… something. It wasn’t jealousy, it wasn’t even close. 

“You staying for dinner?” Bucky asked. 

“What are you making?” 

“The phone deliver pizza.”

“Meat lovers. Extra sausage.”

“Deal,” Bucky replied. “You two both need a shower. I’ll order pizza, you go clean up before you track dust all over the house, and I have to release the Roomba.”

“Buck, it’s not my fault you taped a knife to it,” Steve said. 

“It’s about the reflexes, Steve,” Bucky said. 

Nat and Steve disappear off to the bathrooms, and Bucky ordered three extra large pizzas. They’re en route (via drone, apparently) when Nat descended from the bathroom wearing one of Steve’s button down shirts, half the buttons loose, and a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants, cuffed at the ankle. 

“I raided your closet,” she said, flopping down in the overstuffed chair that served as extra seating in the living room. “Since you guys don’t seem to keep extra women’s clothes around.”

“Now that wouldn’t be right, ma’am,” Bucky said, affecting his best impression of his suck-up voice from before the war. 

Nat threw a pillow at him. He ducked, and there was a soft  _ oof _ as it hit Steve square in the chest. He was dressed similarly to Nat, albeit in his own sweatpants and one of Bucky’s shirts. 

Bucky’s jeans suddenly felt stifling, and he made a flimsy excuse to go to the bedroom. A blind dip into the drawer where the sweatpants were kept earned him a black pair. And while he was in there, he might as well change into soft socks. 

The drone had delivered the pizzas by the time he returned to the living room, and Steve was already halfway through his Hawaiian. 

“What are we watching?” Nat asked around a mouthful, gesturing to the TV. 

“Ancient Aliens,” Bucky said. 

“Haven’t you seen all of those by now?” Steve asked.

“This is the newest one!” 

“They’re still making them?” Nat asked incredulously. 

“This season is exclusively about actual aliens telling the stories of their interference with Earth,” Bucky said. “It’s become a respectable documentary show.”

Hours later, the pile of pizza boxes was in the chair, Nat was sitting between Steve and Bucky on the couch, her legs slung over Steve’s and her back resting against Bucky’s shoulder, a bowl of popcorn in her lap. 

“I’m telling you,” she said. “That’s just a dude in prosthetics.”

“No way,” Steve said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “No makeup artist could come up with that.”

“You need to see more creature features,” Nat said. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” Steve said.

“What are we starting with?” Bucky asked. “So I can get a copy for next time.”

Nat rattled off a list of titles, and Bucky jotted them down in his phone. 

“But honestly, this is almost as entertaining,” she said.

A few more episodes later, Bucky heard a soft sound and looked down to find Nat dozing on his shoulder. He glanced over at Steve, who was looking at her with a fond smile on his face. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve  seen her actually sleep,” he murmured. 

Bucky wanted to poke at that one, but it didn’t seem like the right time. He hit stop on the remote. With the utmost care, he shifted his body so he was holding Nat up with his hands, and laid her down on the couch. She made another snuffling noise and grabbed after his hands, which he gently extricated. Steve moved similarly, until she was lying on the couch, a pillow under her head. Steve pulled the throw off the back and tossed it over her. 

“We should go to bed,” he said.

Bucky nodded in agreement, and as he turned off the light in the living room, he glanced over his shoulder one more time to see the spill of Nat’s hair over the edge of the couch.

He turned back to go into the bedroom but ran into Steve’s chest. 

“It feels weird, right?” he asked. “Leaving her there?” 

“You too?” Bucky said. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I… well…. I dunno.”

They proceeded to their bedroom and slipped into their now-seemingly huge bed in the dark. 

“Did you two ever… fondue?” Bucky asked. 

That got a snort out of Steve. He hadn’t told Bucky that story in almost eighty years, but of course Bucky would bring it up.

“No,” Steve said. “But it was close a few times.”

“Interesting,” Bucky said. “What about now?” 

“Huh?” Steve asked. “I’ve got you now.”

Bucky scrunched up his face. “You and I both know where I’m going with this.”

“You want to invite Nat into the bed?” Steve asked. He almost sounded offended.

“I want  _ us _ to invite her into  _ our _ lives. If that’s what you want,” Bucky said. “If you don’t, I’ll drop it.”

“Hmm,” Steve said. “Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Bucky said. 

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course.”

 


	2. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for lots of blood and off-screen shootings

In the heat of battle, Nat tended to ignore the comms in favor of actually watching what the people on the field were doing, so when the last enemy was down, and the noise filtered back in, she was surprised to hear low but insistent cursing. 

“Fuck, fuck, shit, goddammit,” it took a moment for her to figure out who it was, but the passage of Sam’s wings just over her head made her look in the direction he was going, and she realized it was Bucky swearing. 

“What’s wrong, Barnes?” Sam asked.

“Fuckers shot me,” Bucky bit off. “Steve’s gonna fuckin’ kill me if I die from this.”

“You’re not gonna die from this,” Sam said. 

Nat dropped the body she was holding, not even sure if it had life in it or not, and vaulted over the wall. She had a pretty good idea where Bucky was, and Sam seemed unsure. 

“Where the hell are you, Barnes?” Sam asked. 

Bucky’s only response was a low train of swearing. 

“Sam!” Nat said. “Top floor of that outbuilding.” She pointed to a large barnlike structure a few hundred yards away.

Sam swooped down, and Nat threw her hand up. He grabbed it, and she heard the motors in his wings groan against the extra weight as he lifted her off the ground. It was a matter of moments to reach the barn, and Sam tossed her in through the window before tumbling in himself.

Bucky’s rifle was off its legs, and an unidentified body lay off to the other side, blood slowly spreading from it. Nat didn’t even think about it, but checked it for signs of life as she passed by. The man’s jacket bore the insignia of the terrorist group they had been fighting, and he was most definitely dead. 

Sam reached Bucky before she did, and he was already pulling out his field medkit. Bucky’s face was white, and his hand was clutched to his torso, blood leaking through the fingers. 

“C’mon, let me see,” Sam said, pushing Bucky’s hand aside. Nat knelt next to him, and Sam handed her a pair of gloves as he donned his own. “Get his vest and shirt off.”

She consulted the medkit for a pair of shears, and found them. Kevlar wasn’t the easiest thing to cut through, but the velcro straps on the side gave easily, as did the underarmor. She peeled it away from the wound, and then cut the other side to toss the fabric away. The shot was a low gut wound, and she noted absently, not unlike the one the Winter Soldier had given her so many years ago. 

“How bad is it?” she hissed to Sam.

“Worse than it looks, if his physiology is anything like Steve’s,” Sam said, putting what seemed like yards of gauze into the wound. “Put pressure on that. I’m gonna flip him and put more in the back.”

“Did you call for a medivac?” she asked. 

“Shit, no,” Sam said. 

“Already on it,” a voice said over the comms. And indeed, in the far distance, Nat heard the whir of quinjet engines. 

Bucky hadn’t stopped his litany of swears, but suddenly he grabbed her forearm. She jumped and looked down at him. 

“You gotta,” he said, and coughed. “You gotta be there for Steve if I die.” Blood flecked his lips.

“You’re not going to die,” Sam said. “Now stop talking, coughing isn’t good for this.”

“Promise me,” Bucky said, and his grip was like iron, the metal fingers biting into her arm, even through armor. 

She didn’t know what she was promising, but she nodded jerkily. 

“Good,” Bucky said, and his eyes fluttered shut, grip suddenly loose. 

“Hey!” Sam said. “None of that now, wake up, Barnes!”

The quinjet arrived then, and a team spilled out carrying a stretcher. 

“Keep the pressure on that!” Sam said, as they shifted Bucky to the stretcher. 

Nat now found both of her hands full as she kept the gauze in place on both sides. They snapped the stretcher into place. The jet spun to life, and was off the ground before the door was even shut. She saw Sam’s face, splattered in blood, looking directly at her as the jet lifted into the sky, his face a mask of raw concern. 

The journey was not an easy one, they seemed to find every bit of turbulence on the way to the medical facility, and she was already bone-weary from the battle. Blood soaked the gauze, and someone shoved more into her hands. Her world narrowed to the pressure she was applying and keeping her balance. 

An eternity and an instant later, the jet touched down, and the doors opened to admit another running medical team. 

“What do we have?” one of them shouted, and a person behind Nat replied something she didn’t catch. 

The leader of the new team gave a rapid series of orders. She suddenly found herself gently pulled back as new hands replaced hers, and Bucky was rushed out of the jet and into the hospital. She stumbled back to a seat, sitting down heavily. 

“Hey, you alright?” someone asked, and she looked up into a concerned face. 

“Yeah,” she said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. 

The woman tsked and Nat realized she had left a streak of blood on her forehead. She pulled the gloves off and tossed them on the floor next to the pile of blood-soaked gauze. 

“You don’t look alright,” the woman said. Nat couldn’t remember her name. Sandy? Sally? 

“It’s been a long day,” Nat said. “And I don’t think it’s over yet.”

“Well, at least let me get you inside and something to eat and some water. And maybe a bit of soap,” Sally/Sandy said. 

Nat nodded and let the woman lead her out of the quinjet and into the hospital. She found herself in an exam room with a bottle of water in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. 

“Eat!” Sally/Sandy said. “You’ll feel better.” 

Nat bit a large chunk off the chocolate bar, and somehow, the nurse was right, she  _ did _ feel better.

“Thanks…” she said.

“Sandy,” Sandy said. “And you’re welcome. Chocolate might not fix anything, but it helps sometimes. Now, will you let me look you over?”

Nat nodded her consent, and Sandy gave her a brief physical before pronouncing her healthy but exhausted.

“I’d tell you to go get some sleep, but I don’t think that’s going to happen, so go get a strong coffee and a change of clothes if you can find it,” Sandy said, stepping back. 

“Thanks again,” Nat said, and finished the bottle of water. There was a bag on the counter labeled “patient’s personal effects” and she stripped her upper body armor off until she was left in her underarmor tank top and combat pants. These, at least weren’t soaked in blood. She shoved the rest in the bag, and went off in search of a coffee and the waiting area. 

An hour and a half later, she was staring blankly at  _ People _ magazine with a mostly-empty coffee dangling from her fingers. The waiting room is bland to the point where she wonders how someone even designed it this way. The door suddenly slammed open, and a harried looking Steve burst in. 

“Nat!” he said. 

“Hi, Steve,” she said. “I don’t have any news. He’s still in surgery.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“As far as I can tell, someone snuck up on him while he was in the sniper’s nest.”

Steve’s face darkened, and Nat knew he was already plotting revenge. 

“The guy’s dead, Steve,” she said gently.

“That’s probably good for him,” Steve said, his voice deep and biting. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out. When he opened them, his gaze focused on her forehead. “Are you bleeding?” 

“No,” she said, reaching a hand up to scrub at the dried blood. “It’s not mine.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, breath coming out in a punch. 

“He’ll be okay, Steve,” Nat said, rising to take Steve’s hands. “You’ve been through worse and you came out all right. Hell,  _ I’ve  _ been through worse.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Team Gutshot?” 

Nat’s face quirked in a grin, “Don’t let Sam get any ideas.”

Steve ran a thumb over her forehead, and she suddenly stopped breathing. “Here,” he said, turning to the small sink in the room. “Let me wash that off.” He returned with a wet paper towel and Nat held very still as he gently wiped the blood away. Steve’s hand fell away, but he didn’t move otherwise.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he was hugging her. She froze for an instant, Steve had always been friendly and tactile, but this seemed… different. But then, he was big and warm, and she was so  _ tired _ so she relaxed and leaned into him. Her exhaustion swept over her then, and her knees started to wobble. 

“Hey, now,” Steve said, and led them to a couch. “Don’t go collapsing on me.”

“It’s been a long day,” she murmured. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “Go ahead and sleep some. I’ll wake you up when something changes.”

She was going to argue with him… it would be so easy to but she was just… so… tired… Her eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord, and she curled up against Steve’s side, her head resting on his shoulder. Just before she drifted off, she swore she felt him turn to kiss her forehead, but then…, no she must be mistaken. 

Nat woke when Steve moved under her. She jerked into alertness, coming fully awake through the habit of a lifetime.

There was a weary-looking doctor standing in the waiting room, still wearing his surgical scrubs. 

“Mr. Rogers?” he asked. Steve nodded. “He made it through fine. He lost a lot of blood, but his body seems to make it at an incredible rate. I must confess that I don’t know much about, well. There’s a lot of unexplored avenues. You don’t care about that. Anyway, he’s alive and should continue to improve. He’s still unconscious, but you can come see him. He should wake up within the hour. If you’ll follow me?”

Steve rose, Nat just behind him. The doctor looked questioningly at her.

“She’s fine,” Steve said. 

“Very well,” the doctor said. Apparently he wasn’t going to argue with Captain America, retired or no. 

They went through a labyrinth of corridors until they arrived at a sunlit room. Bucky, still pale, but looking slightly less dead, lay propped up by a bevy of pillows and the bed. His lower torso was wrapped in bandages, but he was otherwise clean of blood. 

“Press the button if you need anything,” the doctor said. “And when he wakes up, we need to check for any lingering symptoms.”

“Of course,” Steve said. The doctor nodded, and let the door swing shut behind him. 

Steve pulled up a pair of uncomfortable looking chairs, and took one of them. Nat wasn’t quite sure what she was doing here, so close to this situation, but it felt  _ right _ so she sat in the other. Steve took Bucky’s closest hand in his and gave it a squeeze. 

“You know,” he said to Nat. “It would be easier to be mad at him for this if he’d gotten shot doing something stupid.”

Nat snorted. “That would be calling the kettle black.”

“Touche,” Steve said. “I’ve done enough stupid shit for both of us.”

“What’s the stupidest?”

“Oh, it’s a toss up between the time I jumped on a grenade and putting the Valkyrie in the ice.”

“You jumped on a grenade?” Nat had never heard  _ this  _ story.

Steve grimaced. “It was at basic. I was still small. It was a dummy grenade, but I didn’t know that. It’s actually what convinced Phillips that he should let Erskine give me the serum.”

A low groan came from the bed and both of them turned to look at Bucky. 

“I ain’t ever gonna stop hearing about your idiot antics, am I?” he said without opening his eyes. 

“Buck, that’s half the fun,” Steve said. 

“We’re gonna talk about that grenade later,” Bucky said. 

“Sure we are,” Steve said. Nat thought he would rather not.

“How long’s it been?” Bucky asked, opening his eyes just a slit.

“Just a few hours,” Nat said. “Sam managed to stop most of the bleeding.”

“I’m gonna have to send him a fruit basket,” Bucky said.

“I believe he prefers mini muffins,” Steve said. 

“I’ll get right on that.”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve, and cracked a smile. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey to you too,” Steve said. 

Nat was overcome with a feeling of being out of place, like she didn’t belong in this small sphere of intimacy, and she started to rise, but Steve’s free hand shot out to land on her knee, and she sat back down. 

“Stay,” he said, and Bucky nodded. 

She glanced between them, matching smiles of encouragement, muscles strung tight as a bow as she wavered between ignoring Steve and bolting and leaning forward, allowing the sphere to encompass her. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 


	3. Steve

_ “What are you doing?” she asked. _

Steve looked over Nat’s shoulder at the open door. This was not the place to have this conversation, but it was apparently going to happen anyway. 

“I’m--  _ we’re _ \-- asking you to stay,” Steve said. 

“Stay?” Nat asked. 

“Don’t leave,” Steve said.

“Stevie, you’re being as clear as mud,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, well this was your idea,” Steve said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and then grimaced. “Ugh, whatever they gave me for the pain is going straight to my head.”

As if summoned, a doctor chose that moment to breeze in. He performed a series of tests, and then turned to Steve and Nat. “I know it’s still the middle of the day, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave so that Mr. Barnes can get some rest.” Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor held up a hand to forestall it, “We have to keep you for another twenty four hours for observation, standard procedure. But given how much you’ve healed already, I believe you’ll be able to go home on  _ bedrest _ sometime tomorrow.”

Bucky snapped his mouth shut, and scrunched up his face. “I’m still not happy about it,” he muttered.

Truth be told, Steve wasn’t either. But then, Steve had had a lifetime of ignoring doctor’s orders, and Bucky hadn’t. The doctor took his leave, and Steve came up to the side of the bed. He pushed the hair out of Bucky’s face. 

“We’ll be back tomorrow to spring you,” he said. “Hell or high water.”

He felt the heat of Nat’s body as she leaned around him, and he could hear the smirk in her voice, “We got Sam’s wings out of Fort Meade, getting you out of here should be a cinch.” 

“That was ten years ago,” Bucky said. “Who knows what you can do now?”

“Did that sound like a challenge?” Steve asked.

“I think it did,” Nat said. 

Fifteen hours later, they’re collapsed in a pile on Steve and Bucky’s couch. Well, Bucky was propped up by a flock of pillows (and Steve definitely didn’t discreetly send a picture to Sam to ask if Bucky was going to rip something). Steve’s legs were tangled with Bucky’s, and Nat sat on top of both of them, a slice of cold pizza in her hand. 

“I think that was a rather successful mission,” she pronounced around a mouthful.

“We probably gave that poor doctor a heart attack,” Bucky said.

“Eh, a little heart attack’s good for a healthy immune system,” Steve said.

“Well that explains why I never caught any of the shit you had when you were a skinny bastard,” Bucky said. “‘Course, you’re still a bastard.”

Steve chucked a pillow at him, and he batted it aside. 

“Boys!” Nat said. “You’re going to rip something, and then get blood all over the couch. And trust me, blood is  _ very _ difficult to get out of this fabric.”

Steve paused, looked at Bucky. Bucky nodded. There was only one way to deal with this. Steve surged up, tackling Nat onto the floor, just avoiding the coffee table. He had his hands in her sides and was tickling her before she even registered what had happened. He felt the instant she did though. She turned underneath him, flipping him over until she was sitting on his chest, a knife in her hand. 

He threw his hands up in surrender. 

“You had that one coming, Steve,” Bucky provided helpfully from the couch.

Nat shoved the knife back into its sheath at her ankle, and rolled off Steve, standing and starting toward the door. 

“Hey!” Steve said. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid--”

“Steve,” Nat interrupted. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t’ve pulled a knife on you.”

“Pretty much a daily occurrence around here,” Bucky said. “We’ve got some very pointy friends.”

“Bucky sleeps with three. That I know of,” Steve said. “I’m sorry I startled you. That… well, personal boundaries.”

“You two don’t seem to have any,” Nat said. “At least with each other.”

“That’s what happens when you grow up in each other’s back pockets,” Bucky said. “And with all the shit we’ve seen, well.”

“Shared life experiences?” Nat said.

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

Nat smiled, but it was a small sad thing. “At least you’ve got that,” she said. She turned and walked to the door, her hand on the knob. 

Steve reached out a hand, put it on her shoulder. She looked back at him, and for whatever reason, he froze. A long moment stretched out where they just stared at each other, green on blue. 

“For fuck’s sake, Steve,” Bucky said from the couch. “Just fuckin’ kiss her already!”

“Excuse me?” Nat said.

“Don’t make me come over there,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna have to buy a new couch.”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, and pulled his hand back, turning away from both of them, ready to retreat to some other room. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Nat said, grabbing his hand. “You’re gonna sit your ass down and both of you are actually going to tell me what the hell you’re trying to do here.”

She pulled Steve back to the couch, and shoved a hand into his chest until he sat down heavily, then retreated to stand in front of the coffee table, arms crossed over her chest. 

Another awkward silence stretched until Bucky broke it. “He’s flirting with you. Actually, we both are. He’s just enormously bad at it.”

“Hey!” Steve said.

“Steve?” Nat asked. 

“Well,” Steve said, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands or Bucky’s shoulder or something something something. “Yeah.”

“You know, I can’t read minds,” Nat said. “You’re going to have to use your words.”

Steve took a steadying breath. “You know that feeling when you forget your keys or your phone and it feels like something’s out of place, but you can’t figure out what it is?” Nat nodded, so he continued on, the words spilling out now. “It feels like that when you leave. Hell, it feels like that when you leave the  _ room _ .”

“Oh,” Nat said softly. “But you… and.. You.” She gestured vaguely between Steve and Bucky.

Steve shrugged. “That’s never been a problem as far as I’m concerned. And this  _ was _ Bucky’s idea.”

Nat’s face was a practiced mask, and Steve felt something inside of him tear just a little. He released all the tension in his muscles and fairly melted into the couch. He expected her to leave without a word.

But then, after a very long minute, her eyes twitched. 

“If you’re fucking with me, I will actually kill you,” she said, her voice cold and quiet.

The words, from someone else, could’ve just been a joke, but Steve knew Natasha meant every single one of them. 

He stood, and walked around the table again to stand in front of her. “I swear on my mother’s grave we’re absolutely serious,” he said.

She turned her head to look at Bucky, her eyes wide.

“Deadly,” Bucky said. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then her entire face changed, the mask breaking. A smile spread over her face, and it was like a decade had been erased from her face, the cares of everything that had happened slipping off her shoulders. 

“Hi,” she said, and Steve was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. 

Her eyes were an enchanting shade of green, and he suddenly itched for colored pencils. 

“Hi,” he said back. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, suddenly much closer. Steve glanced up to find him standing directly behind Nat, facing Steve. 

Steve read the underlying threat in Bucky’s face, and tipped a finger under Nat’s chin. “May I?” he asked.

She nodded, and then Steve was kissing her. It had been a  _ very _ long time since he’d kissed anyone other than Bucky (that one incident with Sharon excepted, because really, what the actual fuck had either of them been thinking?) and Nat had very soft lips. So very soft…

He felt Bucky’s hand come around his hip and pull him and Nat closer into Bucky, and then Nat’s hands were on his chest pushing him away. He stepped back immediately, almost into the coffee table, and Bucky sprang away as well.

“Sorry,” Nat said. “I just… don’t like to be surrounded like that. Instinct, y’know?” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky said. “We’ve all got our things. Lucky for us, however, Steve’s a  _ big _ fan of being surrounded.”

Steve felt the heat creep up his face as Nat regarded him with what could be classed as a leer. “Do you now?” she said. “Well. I can work with that.” 

They both moved before Steve even knew what was happening, and somehow he ended up with his arms full of Nat, her legs wrapped around his waist, with his back against Bucky’s broad chest, and the two of them kissing over his shoulder. 

And godfuckingdamn if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen. He nearly came in his pants just at that, but then now Nat was kissing him again and Bucky’s kissing the back of his neck and there’s hands sliding up his back.

Bucky’s hands, one warm and one cool, slid up his sides, under his shirt. It caught on Nat’s calves, but she managed somehow to let it past, until the denim of her pants chafed against the skin of his sides. It was a good thing he was wearing a button up shirt, apparently. Steve wasn’t sure exactly when the buttons had been undone, but Bucky was a very efficient man. Nat, for her part, was seemingly intent on permanently messing his hair up. He was still trapped between them and with his hands occupied holding the majority of Nat’s weight (not that he couldn’t hold her with one hand, and not that she couldn’t hold herself up), he was quickly becoming debauched. 

“I get why you like the beard now,” Nat said, her voice half an octave lower than usual.

“Huh?” Steve asked in a dazed voice.

“It’s luscious, right?” Bucky asked. 

“What do you use in it?” she asked Steve.

“I dunno,” he said. “Beard conditioner?”

“Whatever it is, it’s working,” Nat said.

Bucky moved a hand up from Steve’s chest to Nat’s hair and pulled her back in for another kiss. They were much more aggressive than Steve was, and suddenly Steve was overwhelmed with the need to kiss Bucky. He switched from two hands under Nat’s thighs to one under her ass, and reached back to tug on Bucky’s hair until he got the message and latched his lips onto Steve’s. Nat took the momentary respite to catch her breath. 

Steve leaned away from Bucky just for a moment, “You okay?” he asked.

“Never better,” she said. Her feet uncrossed and she dropped down down to the floor, both hands firmly planted in Steve’s chest. “Bed. Now.” she said.

Steve never was one to argue with a lady.

* * *

 

The next day was grey and rainy, if the blurry streaks on the window above the bed were to be trusted. Not that Steve particularly felt like getting out of bed. He was retired, for heaven’s sake, he could afford a day in bed. And if that day was spent with Nat sleeping on top of him and his head pillowed on Bucky’s shoulder, well, he wouldn’t complain.

“You know,” Bucky said, apparently having heard the change in Steve’s breathing. “You never did tell me the grenade story.”


	4. Epilogue

_ Six months later _

Bucky wasn’t usually that late coming home from a mission, but Steve stayed up nonetheless. He had given up on dinner a long time ago, just ate it himself. The sound of tires on gravel alerted him to the approach of a car, and moments later, the door banged open to reveal Bucky and Nat, both covered in dust. Bucky was carrying what looked like a rug.

“We got a cat,” Nat said, sweeping by the table to kiss Steve on the way in.

“You what?” Steve asked.

“We got a cat!” Bucky said. “Here!” he handed Steve the bundle, apparently a sleeping kitten.

“You… got a cat?” Steve was bewildered.

“Carol found her,” Nat said. “Something about her cat had a friend? Either way, she’s ours now.” 

“Does she have a name?” Steve asked. He had to admit, the cat, an orange tabby, was rather adorable. She was still asleep, but had curled up in Steve’s lap and was purring.

“Not yet,” Nat said. “But she’s the same kind of cat as Carol’s cat, Goose.”

“Is that the same Goose that Fury’s had since the 90s?” Steve asked.

“I think so? Why?” Bucky said.

“I didn’t know cats lived that long.”

“Maybe she’s a space cat,” Nat said.

“We should name her after a bird,” Bucky said. “You know, Goose?” 

“Goose is named after a Top Gun character,” Nat said. “But… we could call her Falcon. Piss off Sam.”

“I thought that was Bucky’s favorite pastime,” Steve said.

“Hey! It’s only fun because he gets so irritated every time!” Bucky said. 

“Bucky’s wearing off on me,” Nat said.

“How about Peregrine Falcon? Call her Perry?” Steve suggested.

The cat’s ears perked up at that, and she opened her eyes just a slit. 

“Perry it is.”

 

* * *

  
  


The tentacles come as a real surprise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because if it's not feasible for them to have a baby by god I'm gonna give 'em a cat(ish)

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found anywhere a drone delivers pizza @fireflyslove or @capsbum depending on the time you're reading this.


End file.
